


Better Late

by ToriBeth



Series: Johnlock Vignettes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Date, M/M, Virgin!Lock, but no deflowering, hand holding, not yet anyway, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriBeth/pseuds/ToriBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"John had four minutes before he was exactly on time and four point five minutes until Sherlock resigned himself to having been stood up. "</p><p> </p><p>It's Sherlock and John's first date and Sherlock is extremely nervous while waiting for his crush to arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Late

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to popping my fanfic cherry! This is the first personal work I've completed in I don't know how long and while I'm also very proud of it I'm also a little nervous.  
> The only editing that's been done is by me so if there are any editing/British/German errors they are all mine.  
> Thank you for reading!!!

Sherlock stood outside of the theatre, hands crushed into his trousers pockets, and sweating more than he cared to think about. He checked his watch- having done so precisely every three minutes since arriving twenty-six minutes ago -and felt his chest give another worrisome squeeze.

John had four minutes before he was exactly on time and four point five minutes until Sherlock resigned himself to having been stood up. 

“Are you doing ok over there, kid?” A youth standing in the box office was giving him a pitying look. “You’ve been waiting a while.”

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat before snapping: “He’ll be here- in fact, he has two minutes and eleven seconds until our agreed-upon time. He’s coming.” But Sherlock felt he was reassuring himself more than the nosy onlooker.

Why shouldn’t he need reassurance? John was kind and good and had so many friends and all the girls fancied him. Why would he waste a perfectly good Friday night by spending it with Sherlock?

And not only was he going to be subjected to Sherlock’s company, but Sherlock’s choice of evening activities. At the time watching a foreign film had seem tame compared to the rest of the ideas Sherlock had buzzing around in his head. In hindsight, though, he suspected it was a bit odd for two fourteen year olds' first date to be watching a documentary on criminology entirely in German. 

Sherlock glanced down at his watch again, heart plunging. During his anxious musing he had not only missed the six o’clock mark, he had passed it by forty-three point three eight seconds. 

John wasn’t coming. 

Really, even with a dull ache beginning to steal over his chest, Sherlock couldn’t blame him. Sherlock was odd in every way- looks, habits, hobbies -and it was not a wonder that someone complete opposite of him would find the prospect of spending three hours in his presence distasteful or even disgus-

“Oh, Sherlock! Sorry I’m a bit late,” John came barreling around the building's corner, panting heavily, with a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. “But on my way I saw this in a shop window and thought you might like it.” He pulled out the gift (Sherlock instantly deduced it to be a book) from inside his jacket and handed it over, beaming hard enough that Sherlock worried for his zygomatic majors.

The package was surprisingly heavy, wrapped in brown butcher’s paper, and tied off with twine. An older book shop then, specializing in older or rare prints, possibly sold newer prints of classics to draw in more customers.

Tentatively Sherlock undid the wrappings and stared down at the text, unable to fully compute what it was he was holding.

“Uh, I know it’s sort of weird, and you aren’t supposed to bring presents on dates, but uh,” John shuffled nervously, his grin twisting into a grimace. “Like I said, I saw and thought you’d like it, considering that conversation we had about clastrid- clostidium boch- you know, that botox stuff.”

Sherlock looked up at John in mute awe. Not only has John accepted Sherlock’s interest in something so morbid, but had committed their conversation on discreet and effective methods of poisoning to memory, and then bought him something to aid in that unwholesome fascination.

John’s face was pink and he was looking disheartened now, carding a hand through sandy hair that, until a few moments ago, had been carefully combed down. “So...do you like it?”

Sherlock blinked at John’s cluelessness. How could this beautiful, wonderful boy ever think Sherlock wouldn’t absolutely treasure any gift from him? Especially one so utterly perfect?

“Of course I like it- I’ve had my eye on something like this for quite some time but Mummy disapproves.” Sherlock clutched the book to his chest. “She won’t throw it out, knowing it’s a present. Thank you.”

He was graced with another heart-stopped smile. “Great! Now let’s go make me more cultured. German, huh?”

Sherlock nodded, a small thread of anxiety working its way back in.

But John gave him a sly sideways look and said, “Believe it or not I had a great-grandma who was German. That was all she ever spoke, so I picked up a few things.”

“You’re lying.”

John laughed at the deadpanned disbelief and said, “Sie sind jetzt ein ziemlich Mann (you are now a pretty man)."

Sherlock flushed but couldn't help muttering “Das war schrecklich (That was awful). But thank you, the sentiments are returned”. How was it that such an ordinary-looking person could be so full of surprises? 

John blushed back and jabbed a thumb towards the theatre. “It'll be nice to see how much I can make out without the subtitles. Let’s go and maybe we can grab some popcorn to share .”

As Sherlock made to follow, John reached out and took Sherlock’s hand, almost naturally.

Sherlock’s heart thundered and he felt a bit faint. No one but Mummy, and very rarely Mycroft, ever held his hand and he was suddenly worried their clammy and cold state would turn John off of touching him ever again.

John gave a gentle squeeze, as if he could feel the fear racing under Sherlock’s skin, and Sherlock could tell John was nervous, too. So he squeezed back and John smiled beside him in the darkness.

Just then, something inside of Sherlock shifted. A missing piece snapped into place where a void had been for fourteen years. He no longer felt as if his life was a constant battle between him and a world that didn’t understand or accept him. Even though now it might be him against the world minus one, that one meant more than being fully accepted ever could.

With a newfound sense of security, Sherlock gave John’s hand another squeeze as the lights lowered and thought he now understood the term ‘better late than never’.

**Author's Note:**

> If you see something that doesn't look right feel free to leave a (polite) comment!  
> And if you see something that did look right, definitely leave a comment or kudos!!!
> 
> Again, thanks for reading my little fic!


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